I’m driving drunk, so?
What’s your fucking point, asshole?
'Twas just a 'possum.
Bad pork barbecue.
I vomit profusely now.
Please let me die soon.
Great category! I wanna play!
After a long night
of whiskey and shotgun fun
my sis looks DAMN guud.
“My Accountz Reeceevable Posse don’t call me Tha Troubleshoota for nothin’. Suckas think I be chillin’, but I gots to represent at all times, 'cuz ain’t nobody else reeceeve accountz right but ME.” --Herbert Kornfeld
Burning sensation.
Pissing ain’t no fun no more.
What was that gal’s name?
uh, GOD, I hate to pick nits, but when was the last time you heard a redneck uyse the word “profusely” ?
“My Accountz Reeceevable Posse don’t call me Tha Troubleshoota for nothin’. Suckas think I be chillin’, but I gots to represent at all times, 'cuz ain’t nobody else reeceeve accountz right but ME.” --Herbert Kornfeld
Some folks would never
Eat a skunk, but the again
Some folk’ll, like Cletus the slack-jawed yokel
Yeah, I know, the last line is more than 5 syllables. I just love that jingle
Mmm, sure…listen…
Do you think I could interest you in a pair of zircon-encrusted tweezers?
Families unite.
Quit lookin’ at my sister.
She’s all mine, buddy.
I realize that the following poem does not fit the Haiku criteria, but it’s damn good advice, nevertheless:
Whiskey to beer, never fear.
Beer to whiskey is mighty risky.
Prestone and gin? Think again!
Are you there GOD? It’s me, Marg…Mojo.
Her purty mouth
and mine meet
and I taste her Skoal
Out late hunting
gas station too far
must use Bumper Dumper™
Three cars up on blocks
“Old Blue” sleeps under the porch
This is home sweet home
to mouthbreather:
Makin’ fun of me?
I’ll kick your ass, Yankee-boy!
Ooops…swallowed my Skoal.
The saloon hoots and hollers,
Gangbang going on!
Maw, is that you?
Up high in my truck
With its big huge wheels, by God!
Makes my pecker hard.
Who are you, darlin’ ?
Your kiss is sweet, kinda sour
With last night’s vomit.
Young’un actin’ up
In the Wal-Mart: slap him hard.
I’ll teach you to cry.
Doc says moonshine blinds,
But I’m-a gonna drank it
Till I need glasses.
A graveyard out back
Faded memories on blocks
The Trans Am sleeps on.
TMR
The fact that somewhere a camera is secretly pointed right up the business end of a toilet
and somewhere else someone is hacking a password so we can see it for free is all the thanks we need.
– From http://www.oldmanmurray.com
I load my 12 gauge
In my mama’s mobile home
Oops, ventilation
The boy’s kinda small,
But he coughs blood and kills birds.
He is a real man.
“You feel like Daddy,”
My sister says when we hump.
“That’s what Momma says.”